Fallen Angels
by Teru Kisuke
Summary: Israfel, a corrupted angel, falls to Sanctuary seeking refuge from both angels and demons. He is wounded and seeks shelter within a lone cathedral. It is there where he finds someone who is very similar to himself: a fallen angel named Tharrun. He becomes surprised at the changes he experiences. Finally, he has found a place where he can call home. Collab with artist Seenyurr!
1. Chapter 1: Sanctuary

Hello everyone! This is a brand new (sort of) story featuring more angels! Who doesn't love more angels? P: This story is made with a collaboration between me and another named Seenya (She generally goes by "Seenyurr" now, but I'm so used to calling her Seenya. XD) If any of you are familiar with my Deviantart, you will recognize her name because I have some of her works posted on my account. She is an AMAZING artist, check her out! You can find her on Deviantart under the username Seenyurr.

As usual, I like to post the word count before the Author's note is added: 2,194 words! Much shorter than the chapters in my fic Angiris nowadays, but this will be a less intense story. Enjoy it to your hearts' content. :P

 **Important Note:** For readers new to my other works, I believe you can read this story comfortably without having to take a look at my other main story, which is "Angiris." **However,** one of the main characters in this does make an appearance in "Angiris," and this story **is** connected to Angiris, the events of this current fanfic beginning after the events of Chapter 4 in Angiris. If you wish to sate your curiosity as to this story's origin, then at least read through Chapter 4 and then come back. Thank you for your time!

 **Warning:** This story is rated T for some blood, violence, and there might even be slight foul language.

Once this story gets long enough, maybe after I post Chapter 2, I will post some artworks Seenya has made for this story in my profile, or you guys can just look up my Deviantart too. Same username as here~

Well, enjoy~

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 **Chapter One - Sanctuary**

Israfel's soul felt anguished and drifted in a state between life and death. The corrupted angel felt as if his entire being would be torn in half. On one hand, his soul wished to return to the Arch to be reborn into a new angel. His reincarnated self would fulfill the duties he should have, but he would not have his memories. In essence, he would die. On the other hand, he was being drawn towards the Burning Hells. He did not want that. The Lords of Evil were not kind to failure. He just wanted his own life away from conflict. He just wanted to be himself, to not want to be pressured by loyalties. In the end, he threw it all away and took his own life. He really was an idiot.

The pulls were so great that his soul often sparked with pain. If he didn't do something, his essence would be wracked with pain for all eternity. So, he averted his attention to the only option left:

Sanctuary.

True to its name, it proved itself to be a worthy option against the others. He drifted what remained of his battered core towards the lone planet. But when he broke out of orbit between the two tugging forces, he was falling, falling…

His battered body materialized and continuously lost altitude. He was too weak to correct his course. He crashed upon the earth. His wounds were still there; his body did not have time to recover with as little time he gave it to materialize. His blood bled black upon the hard soil. Darkness wafted off of him in droves. He was corrupted beyond measure. He hissed. Must shake it off. Must reach shelter. Must _live!_

" _Failure of an angel. You will be sacrificed for your transgressions."_

" _Decrepit worm! The lowest regions of Hell is your only place!"_

" _No one will shelter you."_

Israfel clutched his head and shook it madly. No, _no!_ He wouldn't associate himself with those bastards again! They had sent him on a suicide mission with several other corrupted angels! They didn't tell him an Archangel would be there! His eerily blood red wings flared, his glowing green eyes flaring within the dark depths of his hood. Pain everywhere; pain from his body, pain from the demonic voices in his head, pain from EVERYTHING! He screeched into the atmosphere. His voice became hoarse, and he coughed. His neck bled black upon the ground. Shelter, shelter…

He stumbled forward with his scythe heavily supporting his broken body. Often times, he crashed against the trees. He wheezed, partly through his mouth, and other times through the gaping hole in his neck. With any luck, he would find somewhere to heal, or die trying. Stubbornly, he dragged himself through the trees and emerged into a glade. He raised his weary head, then his eerie fel green eyes widened. There! A cathedral was his salvation. Moss had collected upon the steps, and vines trailed up its frame. He shambled toward it. Hopefully he would find solitude behind those seemingly abandoned walls. The last thing he needed was to encounter angels, demons, or even nephalem.

Little did he know the cathedral was not abandoned. Its sole occupant raised their head. Shakily, they came to their feet, marching towards the large double doors. The man tugged his hood low over his face, marching over to the weapon rack against the far wall to retrieve a rapier. Diminished wings squirmed against their back. Their light had faded over time, almost muffled by the bindings that strung their tendrils together, but still they glared defiantly. The presence nearby was unmistakable.

It was the stench of a demon.

Tharrun, the lone ascetic angel, marched to the doors. He placed his palms upon the gates. He lined up his body, mindful of his back, then slowly thrust the doors ajar. The fierce light of Sanctuary's sun greeted him. It was always more blinding than the soft sun which shone upon the Heavens. It pierced any opposition, much akin to the Nephalem themselves. Likewise, so too did it pierce the veil which would normally hide the demon.

And there it shambled. Crimson red wings as thick as blood surged upon its back. Green eyes bore at him from its hood. Shambling with no account for elegance, it could be none other than an angel turned demon, having fallen from grace. Its black blood poured upon the ground. So it was wounded… Then, his duty would be quick.

Tharrun raised his blade at the demonic seraph. His deep and gravelly voice showed both its age and its power. He was no newborn angel. He had probably lived far longer than this whelp of a demon who stood before him. "You will not step into these sacred halls, demon. Turn away… or else I will be forced to strike you down myself." The angel remained an unmoving paragon. This monster would not tarnish his home.

Israfel reeled back and hissed, clutching his oozing wounds. There were angels here on Sanctuary's soil?! Did their reach know no bounds?! Given the appearance he held now, he had no choice but to hold his ground. He was too weak to run, and too weak to be denied shelter. He would die in this unfamiliar terrain. There was no choice but to either defeat this angel in combat… or die trying. He hefted his scythe into his hands, the darkness wafting off of his body increasing. His stance shambled. The words of challenge wouldn't reach his throat. They gurgled unintelligibly through his torn vein. Not that he would be convincing at explaining himself anyways… A single glance at his darkened armor, the horns on his plated helm, and blackened blood was enough.

The male angel circled around the broken demon. His stance was more graceful than his injured opponent's, hefting his rapier as if he were to make art. Israfel had no choice but to pierce his defence. He hefted his black scythe, then made a powerful slice at him. Despite his injuries, he still possessed his strength.

Tharrun nimbly dodged his strike, making sure to face him at all times. The scythe thudded into the ground. Panicking, Israfel tugged sharply upon the shaft. It caused him to stumble backwards when it flew out of the dirt. He was lucky it did; the momentum of his body steered him away from a rapier jab. Had he remained where he was, it would have pierced right into his armor and out the other side.

He stumbled away and wheezed. He did his best to catch his breath, but it was difficult. The haze over his vision was too great. Soon he wouldn't be able to see at all… But, he held his ground. In his clouded mind, all he wanted was shelter! All he wanted was _sanctuary!_

Tharrun's gaze pierced into the fallen angel's being from behind the depths of his hood. His posture was careful, making sure he could easily defend any part of his body. Partially, his torso was twisted away with his stance, but only slight. It made his body harder to hit, centering more upon vertical mass. The seraph waited for it to make another clumsy strike. He would not make the first move… He couldn't risk himself. He belonged here, not this thief who dared tread upon everything he has suffered for!

Israfel felt something travel up his throat, and it splattered across the ground in a blackened mess. It was his essence. What was once pure white was no longer. His stance weakened and he stumbled backwards, leaning upon his scythe and panting. No, he couldn't lose here! Not yet! He hasn't even taken an arm or a leg yet! He needed to preserve his pride! Never was he losing before he put up a good fight!

Tharrun marched forward to take advantage of the demon's sign of weakness. However, something caused him to freeze.

" _...No… Ca...ot… lo…!"_ The demon gurgled unintelligibly. But, though it was uncivilized gibberish… Tharrun could sense determination, as well as desperation. This being was on the brink of death. It was only prolonging its suffering. The most merciful course of action would be to end its life before it could thrash further. Rediscovering his purpose, the angel marched forward, planning to succeed in defending his territory. At this rate, it would be over soon.

Israfel had lost all sense of coordination. He sliced at the angel madly, hoping to take his head. The slashes were quick despite his wounds weighing upon him. Surely one of them would hit!

But, none of them did. Tharrun remained calm. He dodged away from his horizontal slices. It would tire itself out quicker with attacks like these. Best to wait them out before he went in for the kill. He watched as the demon wore itself out, strike after strike.

Israfel stumbled forward with his last slice, then sunk heavily to his knees. It was no use. He was losing too much essence. His breathing was nonexistent with all the essence clogging his throat, and his eyes were suddenly blinded by his frustrated tears. His battered fingers sunk into the soft dirt underneath him. Water droplets fell, turning the grains a darker color once his tears absorbed into the earth. He didn't have the energy to maintain his dark aura. It fell, and so too did his scythe from his hands. It had thudded unceremoniously to the ground moments prior.

This was it. Here he faced his executioner. Both his glowing eyes and his pride stung. He would die to someone whose name he didn't even know! Defiantly, he raised his gaze to the stranger, his tears glowing pure despite the darkness.

Tharrun held his rapier to the demon's bleeding throat. This was it; his victory was clear. However, something fell upon the blade that caught his eye. The angel's brow furrowed behind his hood. It was still pure, unlike the black blood that spilled from its wounds. It glistened upon the metal, catching the light of the sun. Once the fallen angel raised its head, it was then made apparent what it was. They were tears.

The angel's arm raised, and the fallen angel's eyes widened in terror. The grip upon his blade faltered, then lowered to rest upon the demon's shoulder. Tharrun's obscured eyes flickered over it questioningly. He was struck with hesitation with this pitiful display. Even in their last moments, even demons, as low as they were, never went as low as to cry. But, this was a fallen angel, and perhaps he wasn't completely gone.

The fallen angel made a broken attempt at speech in order to shatter the silence between them. " _...on't… ant to… die…!"_

Tharrun took a moment to decipher its words. It became clear after a moment of thinking what it was trying to say.

It didn't want to die.

Well, neither did he. His grip tightened upon his blade. Any further hesitation could be dangerous. "Any last words?" he growled out, keeping his blade leveled against the tear in its neck.

The fallen angel slumped, defeated. Its wings drooped. Every muscle was tired. It seemed to have fallen to despair for a moment. Then, suddenly, it flared back up again. Its fists clenched, and it began to utter words that caught even the resolute angel off-guard.

" _...Not… fair…!"_

Tharrun's grip tightened and he hissed. It was pathetic. " _Nothing_ is fair in this life, demon! The Eternal Conflict has _never_ been fair!" After all it had done to him, he wished to take no part in it. And this fallen angel lied slumped between him and that goal.

It raised its chin once more, then growled out. Its words were becoming more decipherable the more determined he became to speak. His words were filled with injustice and anger. " _I… didn't ask to… be born…!"_

His sword faltered, then lowered completely. With words like that, he didn't even want to finish it off. He looked over it again. Now that its words were becoming clearer, it was clear this wasn't an "it." This was a mere boy crumpled before him. He was lost and had strayed from the right path. As to what that right path was… Well, even Tharrun didn't know.

The boy continued to stumble and slur, but he couldn't understand his words any longer. It was evident he was growing weaker. The seraph realized he should probably say something. "Stop speaking. I have decided I will spare your life. But, if you even so much as raise your scythe…" The man loomed threateningly. It was evident what he would do.

Israfel weakened completely, then collapsed to the ground. His unnatural green eyes couldn't be seen anymore. Soon he lied in a puddle of his own blood. It was a wonder how he managed to survive this long. And yet… he still clung to life. His body heaved, drawing breath. Maybe there was still a chance.

Tharrun looked over the fallen boy, then glanced up at the cathedral. There was much work to be done…

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Hello dear readers! Israfel belongs to me, and Tharrun belongs to Seenya aka Seenyurr. There are some works of them already on my DA account with her permission and credited with her name in the title. So, if you wish to see what both him and Israfel look like, check them out~

 **Seenyurr:** "I hope you all will like my old fart. :'I"

I'm sure everyone will love Tharrun to bits once we get a bit further into the story. He's grumpy now, but he becomes so lovable, trust me~

For those curious on Israfel's name origin, unlike many of my other characters whose names have no meanings, I based him off of a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe called "Israfel," who emphasized his lyrical prowess. He is referenced as an unnamed angelic figure in the Quran. Of course, Israfel is a loose inspiration, so he will not share many of their characteristics (like him not bearing a trumpet for example.) The only real similarities are his voice which is very pleasant to listen to, and his ability to sing if he showed it. So, there's a fun little history lesson! Look up the poem, it's one of my favorites~

Be sure to let us know if you like this story~ Ciao~


	2. Chapter 2: Truce

**Chapter 2 - Truce**

Israfel stirred within his slumber. Before, the world was filled with nothingness. It felt like this nothingness had stretched on for forever. But now he could suddenly hear voices. He grimaced. It was the _voices_ again. They threatened to split his head open. He clutched his head and thrashed around, as if to escape from them, but he felt too weak. No… NO…!

" _BOY!"_

Israfel snapped awake, gasping. His glowing green eyes were wide open now, staring up at a stone ceiling. His body was wracked with pain with his movements and he groaned. Everywhere hurt. His neck hurt, his chest hurt, his brain hurt, everywhere hurt. His eyes fluttered back closed again. The fallen angel was waiting for the pain to pass. "...Uh...ghn…!"

He heard a grunt from above him. Tiredly, he cracked his eyes open. It was a familiar angel looming above him. His eyes snapped wide again. It was the angel who nearly killed him! He veered his body backwards, but he groaned and collapsed upon the bed again. His lungs burned, and his chest felt as if a burning poker had been driven through and impaled him. He had neither the strength to speak nor move.

"You were having a nightmare," the male angel grumbled. The man backed away, never once allowing his back to face him, then sunk back into his seat on the other side of the room. A book was at his side. It had been what he had been reading before the boy suddenly started thrashing.

Israfel coughed, then coughed again. Blood began to drip down his chin. It was a dark, almost pitch black, gray. It was too painful to speak.

Tharrun looked up at him, then stated coldly, "It would be wise not to undo my hard work." Nevertheless, despite being so cold, he came to a stand and moved to the boy's side to offer him treatment again. He cleaned up his chin as well as looked over his neck to see if it had reopened again. The seraph cursed under his breath. He needed to change the bandages already. They were soaked through with black.

Through the haze, Israfel cracked his eyes open to see what was going on. It hurt too much to speak. However, even if it didn't, he was too exhausted to. His wounds had taken their toll, and he had lost a lot of essence. It was a surprise he had any left.

Tharrun finished changing his bandages, then marched back to his seat. He thudded into the chair and grabbed his book grumpily again. It was evident the older angel wasn't happy with housing a corrupted angel within his cathedral. But, at the same time… he couldn't shake off the image of fear within the boy's eyes. He frowned within the depths of his hood. He was growing old and soft. The corrupted one could have pounced on him with the openings he gave. Demons did like to rely upon trickery…

The seraph's gaze averted to the boy again. The wounded angel had been sleeping for a few days. Often times he would thrash in his sleep, and he would have to pin him down before he ended up hurting himself. Was he trying to fight off the darkness? Well, even so, the corrupted angel would be leaving as soon as he recovered enough to walk. He had already outstayed his welcome, if there was any in the first place.

Israfel stared at the ascetic out of the corner of his eyes. He had so many questions and no way to relieve them from his mind. His throat was too broken for that. So, he found himself settling his head back and trying to answer them himself.

The cathedral was old. It looked abandoned from the outside, but the inside was very lived-in. Bookshelves lined the walls, a desk rested near where Tharrun sat, and the bed he was on lied in the opposite corner of the room. He could only presume the other angel had actually settled here, and not just for a temporary mission. Was he just like him? But, he couldn't be; the ascetic held an obvious disdain from his presence. Was there some other reason? His eyes moved to peer at the wings on the angel's back. They were a broken light, torn to shreds and held together only by rough bandages. Maybe he had no choice BUT to stay here.

"I would prefer it if you wouldn't stare."

Israfel grimaced. The other angel was looking up at him now… It was likely to make sure he wasn't concocting his demise. The fallen one couldn't help but sneer. He would be on edge too if he had an enemy in front of him. But, more questions surfaced. Why had the man taken him in if he despised him so much?

The angel sighed, then closed his book. His patience was running thin, but there was still a sliver left. "I am sure you have many questions, but I would advise you not speak. Your throat is halfway torn through."

Israfel's eyes moved downcast, then away to the opposite wall, absentmindedly brushing his hand against the bandages. This wound was his mark to bear. It was the price he had to pay for his freedom. The wound on his chest, well… He could only chalk it up to his own carelessness.

He could remember the battle within the Archangel of Wisdom's office. Of course he would; how could he ever forget? It was his first mission after associating with the forces of Hell, and where he supposedly died. He was tasked with infiltrating the Heavens and tracking down an injured Archangel, but everything went wrong when the Archangel of Fate caught wind of their plot. Itherael was surprisingly adept in combat. Israfel's fists clenched tightly when remembering their battle. That sword had really hurt. He would make him pay once he gets off of this bed!

Tharrun noticed the boy's expression when prodding at his wounds, but said nothing. Instead, he got up from his seat and decided to be merciful. He grasped a spare sheet, then dipped a quill into an inkwell. He moved over to the boy's side. "I can't keep calling you 'filthy demonspawn' if you're going to remain here for as long as you are. So just write me your name. Do not dare attempt to speak," he pressured.

"..." Israfel glared at the paper, and then at the man again. Then, hesitantly, he slowly reached for the paper and quill, relinquishing it from the other angel's hands. He stared at the parchment fibers. Normally, an angel would state their name and then their affiliation, and vice versa. However, now he had none. He would cut off all ties to any side. So, he wrote down the only thing he truly knew at this point.

Tharrun retrieved the paper and quill once the boy was done. He peered at the page to see what he had written.

 _Israfel._

Though it was only a name, the angel could not help but become lost in thought with his answer. It was a… surprisingly fluid name. Then again, angel names tended to be. But, what surprised him most was how he still held onto it, even with the extent of the corruption in his body. He didn't hold it with pride, didn't add any unnecessary titles. It was just… there. The angel suddenly shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts. He was overthinking things. "Very well." That was all he wanted to know.

Israfel's glare intensified when pointed at the angel. The angel asked for his name, but he wasn't going to give his own?! Angrily, he thrust his finger at the angel. He needed to know the name of the one who defeated him!

Tharrun balked at Israfel's behavior, then growled. "Do not test me, _boy!"_

Israfel let out a frustrated exhale through his teeth. He wasn't getting it. He pointed at the paper, then at the angel. He just wanted his name!

Finally, Tharrun understood. The man searched his frame with his eyes, then sighed. He supposed it would be unfair not to grace the fallen one with his own name. He didn't want to, but, for etiquette's sake: "...It's Tharrun." Nothing more, nothing less. That is how it should be.

Tharrun… So that was the name of the one who defeated him. He settled back into his pillow. However, he had lost when he was heavily injured. He snickered to himself. He would have to get a rematch when he was healed.

Tharrun couldn't tell exactly what the boy was thinking, but he didn't like it, whatever it was. He frowned, then marched back to his seat once and for all. There was work to be done. He organized his papers, then resumed reading.

Israfel watched the other angel silently. What was he even working on? What was the point? They weren't in the Silver City. They weren't in the Heavens. So, why? Was he just a workaholic? The corrupted angel wouldn't do a lick of work if he didn't have to. He couldn't understand the other angels. It was as if they feared some sort of deity would strike them down if they stopped. Well, that was none of his business.

His injured body tensed, then he coughed. He hacked and wheezed, more essence trailing down his chin. He grimaced and shuddered, trying to calm down his body by keeping it still, but it wasn't helping. It only made the pain worse. However, he shakily wiped the blood away to show he could deal with it. He didn't think he could handle another string of insults or scoldings for something he couldn't help. His temper was short in that aspect.

Footsteps. Ugh, so he was getting up again. He grimaced when the other angel loomed over him. Would the scoldings come? More pain; he growled and clutched his chest. He wheezed, sweat dribbling across his brow. He felt so disgustingly weak. More blood fell down his chin. Dammit…

Tharrun opened up the boy's robes to take a look at his chest. The long wound was bleeding again. His coughing had jarred it too much. He could see the boy eyeing him apprehensively. The boy was probably wary of what he would do. He sighed, then snaked his arm behind his shoulders, careful not to bump against his neck. "I'm going to need you to sit up."

Israfel grimaced, then sat up carefully with Tharrun's help. He tried to bear the pain, but he was in a lot of it. He hissed when his chest held another assault of stings. He bit his lip hard to silence his cries. The stab wound was long and in the center of his chest. It was no easy task to stop the bleeding either; the bindings had to be really tight.

For once, Tharrun softened. He placed his hand upon the boy's shoulder comfortingly, if only to help him calm down. He had to change the bandages. Israfel said nothing, his head drooped and arms supporting his body. Though it was always dark within the depths of an angel's hood, Tharrun could see the glistening sweat on his forehead with what light there was in the room reflecting upon the droplets. The fallen one's breaths came out in wheezes. It was evident he was in a lot of pain. The older angel should treat the younger quickly.

The man unwound the bandages around his torso to take a look. Israfel shuddered when his wound was struck with the chilly air. The boy bit his lip further. His pride screamed for him to keep his body under control… but the sensations of agony were too strong. He couldn't control it. He let out a whimper.

Tharrun balked. Even when the boy was having nightmares, he didn't whimper like he did in this moment. He looked to the boy's face, then at his battered body. Israfel's frame was strong once, but now a long cut existed there which pierced his body through. His fall from the atmosphere left a number of bruises across his body, but they weren't as severe because his wings were unharmed. However, it had done little to help his condition, as bad as it was originally. He should treat him quickly.

While the older seraph dabbed at the darkened essence to wipe it away, he couldn't help himself. He let out some comforting words. "Shhh… It'll be over soon. I'll make quick work of it.* His touch was as gentle as he could manage while he cleaned it up and rebound it again.

Israfel let out some grunts in the process but did his best to hold his tongue. His wing tendrils squirmed behind him. His eyes stung, but he refused to allow them to flow forth like they did before. He gritted his teeth. He would endure.

The ascetic finished up tightening the bandages, earning another grunt from the fallen angel. "RGH!" Israfel gripped the sheets tightly, teeth grinding together unhealthily. When they were tied off, his grip began to slack, and he was left breathing heavily.

Tharrun glanced up at the corrupted angel's hood to see if he was faring alright. However, he found a different expression than he was expecting. The other's eyes, of which still glowed slightly (a little less than during their battle), looked tired. However, even before Tharrun looked up at him, he was staring right back at him. Somehow, the ascetic could read what he was thinking:

" _We are at a truce. For now."_


End file.
